


Make Me Feel Alive

by h_itoshi



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: AU, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, References to Depression, This was meant as anniversary fic but I think I butchered it, and hints of suicidal thoughts, blindfolding, depictions of violence, kind of anonymous sex idk, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/pseuds/h_itoshi
Summary: People inside and around him are having fun, drinking and flirting and acting like assholes and whores as people do when they're drunk. Yamada wishes he wanted to do that, to be normal and not just this empty shell walking around with no other purpose besides working, eating and sleeping. But he doesn't want it. He doesn't want anything.





	Make Me Feel Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write anniversary fic, it was going to be normal and not... this. But then I got caught in a swedish song, which unfortunately doesn't translate well but you could probably guess if you've heard it, and it has this desperate feeling and I wanted to do something like that. So I tried, and this came out of it. Not entirely what I wanted, but I still think that I like it so. Maybe someone else does too, we'll see.

Yamada stares into the swirling darkness far below, wondering what it would feel like to fall into it. Cold? Suffocating? Indifferent?

He's tempted to try it, just climb over the railing and fall in, drift away with the river in the night and disappear. But he can't even find the motivation to challenge the railing he's leaning against.

Instead, he raises the beer bottle to his lips again, hoping to drink away the emptiness that never seems to leave.

It's somewhere past midnight and he's a little cold out here on the nightclub terrace by the river, but he barely feels it, just a numbness on his bare forearms that he wants to rub away but he knows it doesn't help.

People inside and around him are having fun, drinking and flirting and acting like assholes and whores as people do when they're drunk. Yamada wishes he wanted to do that, to be normal and not just this empty shell walking around with no other purpose besides working, eating and sleeping. But he doesn't want it. He doesn't want anything.

A hint of cologne wades into the air around him, and he senses a person next to him, a relatively short person that leans their back against the railing almost too close and Yamada turns reflexively.

He doesn't know the man, but he's beautiful, delicate features and dark styled hair that seems to glitter in the occasional flash of neon from inside. But he also looks like nobody Yamada ever meets, with a dark smudgy eyeliner around his eyes, a thin leather strap wrapped like a choker around his neck, a deep v-neck shirt and tight black pants. There's a glass in his hands, an amber liquid with ice cubes in it, but Yamada doesn't linger on what it is. Because those black eyes are watching him, expression surprisingly emotionless but there's something captivating about them.

Yamada expects him to speak, but he doesn't, just eyes Yamada slowly with a tiny, natural curl of his lips that may or may not be a smile.

Yamada knows what he's wearing but he still has to glance down at himself as that gaze slowly trails down his body like water drops rolling down his skin, at his suit pants and white shirt with undone cuffs. His ordinary workwear as he was dragged out for dinner with superiors and then here because why not. It's not like he can sleep at night anyway.

He's lost his colleagues, probably passed out in a corner or getting some somewhere, but he couldn't care less. He doesn't like them anyway.

The man's dark eyes flick back up to his face after following his body all the way to the floor, and Yamada looks back. He's confused, but he can't find the energy to be intrigued.

The man just keeps watching him silently, standing entirely too close to be a stranger, and Yamada's mind is working hard, wondering if he knows this man from somewhere, but he can't place him at all.

“Can I help you?” He finally asks, unnerved by the calm staring because he can't figure out the purpose and he's too worn out to be polite.

“Can I help _you_?” The man counters, voice melodic and somehow playful despite the serious, calm tone.

Yamada frowns, not in the mood to play games even if it's with a beautiful, exotic looking stranger. “You could push me over the railing.” He finds himself saying, then starts to turn on his day face, to excuse himself and exude the effort to laugh for it to pass as a joke, but he trails off as the man doesn't react.

He only tilts his head a little, sipping his drink slowly before he speaks. “Why?”

Yamada looks down again, at the black swirls two floors below. “Because I want to know if I could feel it.”

There's a silence following his words, and even though they're the most honest thing Yamada's spoken in months, he doesn't regret his words.

But then the man laughs. It's just a soft chuckle, but the amusement sparkles in his eyes, and Yamada doesn't know what to do.

“I expected you to say that you wanted to die.” The man explains, tone gentle but there's that playfulness underneath, and the words doesn't seem as terrible spoken like that as they did when Yamada's played with the idea of it in his head.

“I don't.” Yamada says, things he's never told anyone coming out of his mouth. “I just want to feel that I'm still alive.”

The man's dark eyes return to him, a glow in them that seems to freeze Yamada in his spot and he feels something, something in his chest that seems to unwind one layer and it's like a flash of anxiety sweeping through his body.

“What do you want to feel?” He asks, and Yamada lets himself go for the first time in the past months of spiralling darkness. It can't hurt. Nothing could be worse than what he feels now. Empty, hopeless, useless.

“ _Anything_.” He breathes, the word too big for his voice to properly form it, because he would take anything.

He can't get angry, he can't cry, he can't be happy. Everything just feels gray, pointless, empty. He got dumped, demoted, his parents got angry with him for screwing up, his friends stopped calling him, but he could barely react. There's just... nothing.

“I can make you feel.”

The words are confident, but the tone is low, and Yamada turns to face those eyes again, another flicker of something igniting in his chest before it falters. Something like panic, that sends cold through his body but he doesn't care it's a negative feeling because he _felt_ it.

“If you can, you can do whatever you want to me tonight.”

The words linger in the air, like a heavy perfume of promise and uncertainty, but Yamada doesn't regret speaking them. He doesn't care what happens to him anymore, if he's beaten or dragged against the asphalt behind a car, stripped of his clothes, drugged or shot to death. As long as he feels something.

“Whatever I want?” The man repeats, a dark eyebrow raising in interest as he raises his glass to his lips, letting it graze them for a moment before drinking from it, more than just a sip this time.

“Everything and some more.” Yamada promises thoughtlessly. “As long as you can make me feel alive.”

A smile tugs at the man's plush lips, promising and inviting and Yamada dares to dream, the liberation of giving himself up entirely to a complete stranger something he would never do and that's why he wants to do it, hoping that terror will grab him and stop him from going through with it. But it doesn't.

The man puts his glass down on the railing slowly, so slowly that Yamada follows his fingertips as they caress the edge of the glass before leaving it.

The next second he's staring into the river again, a searing pain blooming out from his cheekbone, his neck muscles straining all the way down his back from the way his head was forced to the side, the sound of the slap still ringing in his ears. The tiniest moan slips out of his mouth because he _feels_ it, raising a shaky hand to touch the throbbing area, but two warm hands grasp it and pauses his movement.

There's another body heat next to his own, then a stinging burn of soft lips pressing against his hurt cheek, hot breath grazing his shocked skin. “Can you feel this?”

The words are just a whisper, and Yamada draws a shaky breath as his hand is guided purposely, his palm pressed against his own chest where his heart is beating in time with the throbbing of his cheek.

“Yes.” He confirms, a shaky sigh and it hurts to speak but it hurts so good.

The hands leave his own and fingers grasp his chin, guiding his head back straight to meet those eyes and it's not until Yamada's vision is a little blurry that he realizes his eyes teared from the pain.

“You're so beautiful. Not even a bruise could ruin that face.” The man speaks, leaning in close enough that Yamada can feel every word against his lips but they're not really touching.

Yamada parts his lips to seal the kiss, but he's too slow, only finding air before him as the other man pulls back.

“Come with me.”

 

Yamada falls onto dark, cool sheets of a big bed, and he doesn't know where he is or what the apartment looks like, but he doesn't care.

The dim lights from the street falls through the window and illuminates the man crawling on top of him like a panther on the prawl. There's definitely glitter in his hair, and Yamada wants to reach up and touch it, but his wrists are captured and raised above his head. He didn't enjoy sex in what must be years, but something is different about this, a situation that is beyond caring about how anyone wants it and trying to keep the awkwardness and faking to a minimum.

Yamada's tie is pulled from around his neck, the tug as it's roughly undone making his strained neck muscles react in pain and it's so good.

He feels the silky material loop around his wrists and he doesn't mind, doesn't mind being stripped of any control he could possibly have as there are cold metal bars against the back of his hands when the loops are tightened and fastened.

He shifts reflexively, but his hands are pinned where they are and a soft groan leaves his lips, wondering what's going to happen to him, if he'll be hurt or pleasured and he honestly doesn't care which of them it is.

There's a drawer opened and closed, something being put on a wooden surface, and then soft silk laid over his spontaneously closed eyes, making them flutter open to complete darkness.

The other man must notice, but he doesn't react, only gently lifts Yamada's head enough to tie a knot behind it, getting some of his hair tied into it but it doesn't matter. He's not scared of whatever awaits.

The silk is cool and soothing against his swollen cheek, and Yamada thinks that there's a bruise but he hasn't looked himself in a mirror since this morning.

He feels the presence above him shift, leaning closer over his abdomen and torso as thighs settle on either side of his hips, but he still gasps as there's a hot tongue followed by lips against his wounded cheek. It stings, the pain accumulating in his body until he jerks involuntarily with a broken moan and the wet kiss disappears from his skin.

“Whatever I want...” That voice repeats, sounding husky and filled of lust with a twist of sadistic that has shivers running down Yamada's spine.

Another wet kiss is pressed against his throat, and another, stimulating the same spot until there are teeth grazing his skin and then suction. It's almost violent but it feels so good, it's like Yamada can feel the tiny blood vessels ripping apart under that mouth, like the piece of his skin being abused is ready to be ripped from his body.

But it's not, and the numbness followed by throbbing as those lips withdraw is refreshing, blending in with the pulse in cheek.

There's movement above him, weight being shifted from all fours to just legs, and with it there's a purposeful grind of hips against his and it makes Yamada gasp. He's never slept with a man before, and the start of an erection pressed against him is new but not unpleasant, quite the opposite. It makes him feel vulnerable and he hasn't in months, makes him feel completely deprived of his control and it's all he wants.

Fingertips graze against his skin so lightly they're barely there, tracing their way from his Adam's apple and down to the modest v exposed by his shirt collar, where they catch in fabric.

Yamada half expects them to rip his shirt open, send buttons flying everywhere, but instead, the first button is undone excruciatingly slowly. The tiny friction of shirt fabric moving millimeters over his skin at the action makes him shift, skin hypersensitive where it's continuously teased before the button falls open and cool air hits his heated skin, sending goosebumps over it.

It's the most erotic undressing he's ever experienced, and he can't figure out why. If it's because he can't see, can't move, or because he's never thought of undressing as something hot before, just a necessity.

But when the final button is undone, he's shivering all over, his entire chest covered in goosebumps and nipples erect, little gasps leaving his lips every time the fabric moves with his shifting.

Warm hands settle on his bared hipbones, making his stomach quiver at the temperature change and his shaky sigh is more of a moan. Palms travel up his abs and chest, smoothing out the goosebumps while slowly seeming to map out his anatomy, fingers following every dip and raise of his ribcage, every mole he's aware of having.

But then the hands withdraw, and a full body shiver wrecks through him as he picks up a sound of something metallic being lifted from wood.

Then a sharp, swishing click grazes the air and Yamada freezes, trying to figure out what it is because it sounds like a tool of some sort, and he wonders if this is how he dies.

He's so ready for something painful that he jumps at the warm palm settling over his left pectoral, resting there for a moment before moving a centimetre or two, and it's not until Yamada feels his pulse resonating in the hand pressing against him that he realizes the other man is searching out his heart.

The hand withdraws, a few moments after settling in one place, and Yamada draws a deep breath, prepared to have something penetrating his heart.

So the tiny sting makes him gasp, so unprepared he doesn't recognize the sensation at first, until he feels heat at the stung area, heat that shapes and seems to unstably shake as his chest rises and falls with his shallow breathing. It's a cut.

His muscles seem to relax a little at the realization that he wasn't fatally stabbed, at least not yet, but the cut still hurts, growing more dull until the pain in his cheek is more prominent.

But then there's another cut, and another, so many in quick succession and in the same small area that Yamada arches against it, reflexively trying to get away as a whiny sound slips from his mouth. It burns, but the sharp tip of the knife withdraws, a small patch of skin that can't be more than a few square centimetres so painful that Yamada's hands struggle to get lose. He's not even sure if it's pain or something else, the blood prickling from the tiny cuts kind of tickling and feeling sticky and gross but the sensation in total becomes a pain he can barely endure. With every shaky breath he feels the pull in the wounds and he presses his head back against the pillow, curls his hands and arches his back because he can't do a single thing about it. And it fills him up with frustration as a small, shaky drop of blood finally bursts and he feels it starting to slide along his skin towards his collarbone, leaving a cold trail of moisture behind it.

He jumps as hot lips catch the drop, a wet kiss as the man licks up the stray to keep it from venturing further, and it takes all of Yamada's focus from the pain to have lips on his skin again.

Until they withdraw, leaving a cooling patch of saliva that doesn't feel nearly as itchy as the blood that's starting to coagulate judging from the sticky, dry feeling of something cracking as he shifts.

He groans out loud as a new sting radiates from his skin, just a couple centimetres to the left of the first wounds, but this time, the cuts are slow, more precise. It almost feels like a drawing or a character is made, and Yamada tries to focus on the pattern, but his inner vision only shows him how his skin is split by a sharp metal edge and all he can do is feel the pain and make shameful, whiny noises in response to it.

When the knife withdraws and doesn't return within a few seconds, Yamada releases a long, shaky breath of relief that almost sounds like a sob but there are no tears in his eyes. The array of cuts above his heart feel heavy as they throb along with his cheek, and he almost feels like he can sense his blood in his entire body, pulsating in a closed circle to keep him alive. Despite all the stupid things he does to his body, like being punched in the face and bruised and cut open by a complete stranger, his body does everything to keep him alive.

Yamada whimpers as there's a soft, lingering kiss pressed against the fresh wounds, his voice bordering on some kind of broken, quiet scream as wet tongue licks against the cuts, the saliva stinging like they were just made anew.

He jerks as fingertips pinch at the stiff nipple only centimetres from the wound, the sudden flash of pleasure almost outtaking the pain of a curious mouth playing with the blood seeping out of his skin, and he doesn't know what to do, muscles tensing and he tries to hide his face in his arms as he ends up moaning shamelessly.

There's a shift above him as the mouth finally lets up, Yamada's following breaths moans of relief that there's no abuse to his hurt tissue, but then a much higher, surprised moan follows as a confident hand cups his erection through his pants.

He had no idea he was so hard, but the pressure against his cock makes him writhe, grinding his hips up because he wants more, but the hand disappears after just one firm, long squeeze.

Yamada whines, already beyond any control of his noises, but this time he's silenced as he's finally kissed.

He tastes blood everywhere in the kiss, tangy and sticky, but it tastes like life and Yamada does all he can to keep the kiss up, sucking and biting at the other's lips to keep them from leaving because this is the only part he's been able to actively participate in. His hands are starting to feel a little numb so he focuses on relaxing them, but that takes his full concentration from the kiss for a second, and just like that, it's gone.

There's sticky substance at the corner of his mouth, and Yamada flicks his tongue out to reach it until he realizes it's smeared blood.

He throws his head back as there's another purposeful grind against him, erections rubbing against each other and the pleasure jolts through his body, his moan silent as his lips part wide for air.

His belt is undone swiftly, surprisingly so as opposed to the slow unbuttoning of the shirt, but it's hot in a different way, his legs manipulated to tug his pants and underwear off one leg, leaving him half dressed and he feels filthy.

His erection twitches in the cool air, and he sighs, not sure if it's uncomfortable or not, until there's another shift above him and legs settle between his own, forcing them to spread.

Yamada tilts his head to the side, pressing his face against the inside of his upper arm to try and hide the flush on his cheeks as he feels his hole being exposed. He's never had anyone else touch him there before, fearing what it could be like but he understands that it will happen.

There's plastic sounds, shifting, and Yamada is so tense he feels like he's going to snap as he waits for the inevitable. He jumps as warm fingertips touch the inside of his thigh, slowly tracing it like it's as interesting as his torso, and nobody's paid much attention to his thighs before either.

He gasps as soft lips press a lingering kiss against his skin, the heat so close to his erection but not close enough, and Yamada involuntarily shifts in order to get that mouth closer.

He doesn't expect to succeed, but the kisses trail down towards his hip, and Yamada's so unused to it that it almost tickles, until he feels hot breath against his erection.

He feels neurotic when he jumps again, violently, as lips press against the wet head of his erection at the same time as wet fingers touch his hole, but the tongue flicking out to lap up his precome like it's as tasty as his blood distracts him from the intrusion in his body.

He thrashes against the sheets because he doesn't know how to handle the sensations, his legs hooking over the other man's shoulders for something to do with them, and they're pushed up as a consequence, spreading them wider.

There's a finger inside him and Yamada can't even identify how it feels, if it just _feels_ , the slow, wet kiss to the head of his cock doing nothing but wind him up more and he feels like he's going to explode.

It's a torturing feeling, wanting something really bad but not being able to have it, overstimulated but still not really, and it feels like all the nerves in his body activates, sending rushes of frustration, pleasure and pain through him. It's almost like an overload to his sensory perception that hasn't been active in months, and he's not sure if he's going to come or pass out.

A shrill moan is choked out of him as the fingers inside him curl, pressing right against something amazing and Yamada almost sobs as the flash of intense pleasure ceases, mouth leaving his erection and fingers withdrawing. He doesn't even know how many fingers there were, only that they leave an empty feeling behind, his hole clenching desperately for something to fill it again and he's never felt more out of control of his body.

There's a rushed breath above him, and it's the most sound Yamada's heard the other man make since he spoke, and even if it's combined with metallic zipper teeth moving against each other, fabric friction and thin plastic crinkling, he strains to hear those breaths. It helps him stay in the real world, or whatever world this is, and not just spontaneously combusting.

Yamada inhales sharply as something moist touches his entrance, and he wants to ask for it to stop as much as he wants to beg for what he knows must be the other man's cock about to enter him. His breath it so deep he feels some of the coagulated blood on his chest crack open, but he can't seem to feel anything right now besides the pressure of something thick and hard slowly pushing inside him and seemingly never ending.

He can't really breathe as he feels skin against his own and he knows this is it, this is as far as it goes, and he feels so full he might split open, nowhere in his wildest imagination thinking that that thing inside him will have the space to even move.

But somehow, as his legs are pushed up higher, his knees almost up by his shoulders, his own muscles squeeze around the intrusion and it feels good, and suddenly the other man is moving, sliding in and out of him excruciatingly slowly.

Yamada whines, whimpers, moans, anything because nothing helps, the pace still as torturously slow and he can't decide if it's so good it hurts or hurts so much it's good.

Until pleasure explodes before his eyes for a second, making him choke on his breath as his whole body tenses, and the speed picks up, hitting that same thing inside him again and again and Yamada stops breathing every time, the lack of oxygen making him dizzy.

He doesn't know how long it lasts, but it feels like forever, until that man leans over him, mouth crashing onto his cut wounds again to suck out the blood like a vampire, the pain enhancing the pleasure and Yamada only needs the slight brush of abdomen against his erection to come.

He spurts uncontrollably, and he feels wet warm stains hit his stomach all the way up his chest as he tries to breathe through the pleasure, clamping down on the erection inside him and he hears the choked moan above him.

He comes down dizzy, white lights going off behind his closed eyelids and he gasps for air as he feels the other man pull out, leaving him feeling wet and sticky all over.

But there's a snap of what must be a condom ripped off, and then Yamada's legs are lowered enough for a hand to loop under one of them and he can feel the wet head of an erection against the inside of his thigh. The motion of jerking off is obvious, the small wet sounds and the desperate breaths, before the head is pressed into Yamada's thigh and wet heat shoots against his skin with a high pitched moan.

Yamada shudders at the sensation, hot drops spilling over to his hip bone and he feels so used and filthy, come and blood all in a mess over him but it feels so good, his sensory system overloaded from being so unused to any sensation.

He's still dizzy as his wrists are untied, and he's half asleep when the blindfold is removed, not even bothered by the tug at his hair, and he only hazily feels the lukewarm washcloth against his skin.

 

Yamada wakes up to daylight fading in through the windows, in a completely foreign bed and apartment, and he sits up straight with his heart beating hard in panic, trying to figure out where the hell he is.

He winces as he sits up, his entire body hurting, and slowly, the night comes back to him. He immediately looks around for another presence, but it's only him, naked in a king size bed in a slightly messy bedroom with daylight outside.

Slowly, Yamada wraps the covers around himself and slides out of bed, unexpectedly facing himself in a mirrored wardrobe door and he jumps.

There's a purple bruise on his cheek spreading up towards his temple, an equally purple bruise on his neck, a hint of dried blood at the corner of his mouth, and the swollen, angry red area on his chest looks huge compared to what he thought it felt like.

He stares for a few moments, figuring he couldn't possibly go to work like this anyway so it doesn't matter what time it is, and slowly notices that there are also some red marks around his wrists.

Finally, he manages to stop staring at the mutilated version of himself and proceeds into the apartment, finding a living room and a kitchen also empty, but theres's a note on the kitchen table.

 

_Sorry I had to leave, but I thought you needed to sleep_

_I hope I gave you what you wanted_

 

There's no name on the note, and Yamada frowns, but he figures maybe this was just meant to be an anonymous encounter, a crazy decision he will make again.

He shamelessly uses the shower, washing off the remains of the body fluids he's covered in, and the hot water burns and stings against his skin but it just makes him smile. It hurts for real, and nothing has hurt either physically or emotionally in weeks.

Then as he steps out of the shower to dry off, he pauses, having to wipe some steam from the mirror to inspect the cuts in his chest properly. He thought they looked like something now that the coagulated blood around them is gone, and he stares into the mirror as he clearly sees the kanji written over his heart.

生気

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> * 生気 = life; vitality; verve; vigor; vigour; animation; spirit  
> (Also a little pun if you feel like it)


End file.
